


The Fire Has Gone Out

by scr3am



Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: Edward and Oswald are so damn cute, Kristen Kringle does not exist, M/M, They are both fluffy cinnamon rolls, Well Oswald is more like a croissant, this is a must read
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-29
Updated: 2017-12-29
Packaged: 2019-02-23 10:49:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,419
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13188513
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scr3am/pseuds/scr3am
Summary: In a world where soulmates exist, Edward and Oswald find each other."Please tell me I don't have to sedate you again."PS. Kristen Kringle does not exist.





	The Fire Has Gone Out

Ever since the day they were born, everybody has a number written on their arm. That number matched the number to their soulmate’s number. When the number goes away, it means they have already met their soulmate. When the number goes away, the person’s arm will describe one thing the person likes. Once they discover who it is, the thing they like will then turn into their name.

Edward Nygma used to always look for a matching number of his own; 7, but could never find it. Ever since he understood what it all meant, he would look at the people’s arms that he had never met with before. But that was a long time ago. He gave up once he got out of college. He thought that there was no hope anymore and him and his soulmate were never destined to meet each other.

That all changed one day, however. When Edward went to work, he noticed that a special someone walked into the GCPD. He smiled to himself and, as subtle as he could, followed that special someone. As they stood side by side, the someone’s voice spoke to him.

“Can I help you?” Oswald Cobblepot asked him. That one question evolved into a short and awkward conversation, until Oswald told him, quite rudely, in fact, to leave.

And so, Edward lived a lonely man, until one day. Edward was casually strolling through the woods, having a picnic and whatnot. Until, he fell over a root and his glasses flew off. He lay on the forest floor, trying to regain his breath, right in front of a trailer. Thankfully he had not walked up to said trailer and got hit by a door opening because that would be stupid. Very very stupid. His first thought was, “Please no chainsaws,” because Edward had never been a normal person before. Horror and riddle obsessed as he was, his thoughts turned from “Oof” from a small child to “Don't murder me!” as an adult.

He was surprised, however, when a person in a mask and wielding a chainsaw did not come out of the front door. A person, a human being that hopefully had most of his sanity came hobbling out. Edward scrambled for his glasses. Once he put them on, he saw Oswald, the very same Oswald he had met at the GCPD a mere month ago. Oswald fell to his knees, a bat he was holding fell to the ground with a thump behind Oswald.

“Oh, my. Mr. Penguin?” Edward asked. Oswald gave him a pained and helpless look.

“Help me. Please,” Oswald said before he passed out.

Edward gasped as he noticed blood staining Oswald’s white shirt. Gently, treating Oswald like a withered rose, he picked up Oswald’s body and proceeded to carry Oswald to his car.

It was a long drive back to his apartment and Edward feared Oswald may not be able to make it. But when he stopped his car, he checked on Oswald to make sure his pulse was still beating. Thankfully, it was. Getting Oswald in the building was a hard task, however.  
He snuck Oswald past the lobby, which was pretty much dead, save for the desk person.

Once Edward got to his room, he heard a gasp from behind him. ‘Shoot,’ he thought. He slowly turned around and quietly sighed in relief.

“Hello Mrs. Weathers. Lovely day, don’t you think?” Edward put on a fake smile.

Edward was very lucky it was only Mrs. Weathers. She was very old. Almost 100, in fact. Her sight was almost gone, and she said she could mostly only see blobs half the time. Mrs. Weathers walked back into her room, muttering that she should get her sight checked, before she started laughing.

Edward quickly unlocked his door. With a grunt, he layed Oswald on the bed. Catching his breath and regaining his strength, he stared at the person in front of him.

“Wow, you’re a lot heavier than you look, Mr. Penguin,” he muttered. He stared at where the blood seeped through Oswald’s shirt and bit his lip. “Now, Operation Make Sure Oswald Cobblepot Lives,” he said.

Edward went to grab the supplies he needed to take the bullet out. When Edward pulled off Oswald’s shirt, he noticed the writing on Oswald’s arm. Edward’s eyes widened and he gasped.

“No, it must be someone else. It’s not me. It can’t be,” he muttered. Sighing, Edward started to patch Oswald back up.  
It wasn't until a few days later that he heard a gasp from the person on the bed. Edward looked up from his coffee and smiled.

“Mornin’, Sunshine,” Edward told him.

Oswald’s eyes widened in surprise. His mouth gaped like a fish and Edward bit his lip, waiting. Oswald looked so confused and lost.

“Please tell me I don’t have to sedate you again,” Edward said, grabbing the syringe.

“A-again?” Oswald yelled, his voice frantic.

“Yes, I’ve already had to do it two times before,” Edward sighed.

“Don-don’t you dare come near me. I’ve killed before and I’m not afraid to do it again,” Oswald threatened. Edward blinked, unfazed.

“I go to work with people who have killed others plenty of times. You’re nothing new,” Edward said. Oswald looked taken aback.

“Uh excuse me but who do you think you are thinking you can just talk to me like that when you don’t even know who I am. _What I’ve done_ ,” Oswald said.

“Ed. Nygma,” Edward said. His last name came as an afterthought. “We met once before at the GCPD,” he finished.

“You’re not a cop,” Oswald muttered, relaxing a bit.

“Oh no, no, no,” Edward laughed. “No, I’m in forensics.” Edward thought back to the writing on Oswald’s arm. “Do you believe in fate?” He asked nervously.

“Where are my clothes?” Oswald asked him looking down at the pair of pajamas on him in confusion, ignoring Edward’s question.

“Oh, I threw them away. They smelled,” Edward said, a bit annoyed. “Now, as I said bef- No no no no! Don’t get up!” Edward said frantically, rushing over to Oswald and making sure he couldn't get far.

“If you sedate me again, I swear I will-” Oswald was quickly cut off.

“Look, Mr. Penguin, I get it. You don’t trust me so you want to leave. Here’s the thing, you are a wanted man. With your condition, you’ll get about three blocks. I’m afraid that you’re stuck here until you recover,” Edward told him. Oswald stared at him before huffing and turning away. Tear’s formed in Oswald’s eyes.

“Would you like some water?” Edward asked. Oswald glared at him. “I’ll take that as a ‘no.’”

“What do you want from me?” Oswald asked him, his voice broken.

“What I want, the poor have, the rich-” Edward was saying until Oswald cut him off.

“Please don’t start on anymore riddles. A simple ‘nothing’ would have sufficed,” Oswald sighed. “If you’re planning on killing me, could you get on with it? At this point it would come as a welcome relief.”

“Oh, heavens! No, no, no, no, no, no, no, no. I have no ill intentions toward you,” Edward said, sitting next to Oswald’s feet on the bed.

“Then what are your intentions?” Oswald asked, his voice and face emotionless. Edward bit his lip, looking Oswald in the eyes.

“Honestly? Nothing. You were hurt. I would never take advantage of you in the state you are in,” Edward told him. Oswald smiled a little.

“Why are you being so kind?” Oswald breathed, his voice barely above a whisper.

Edward blinked. No one had ever asked him that. Usually, people asked him to stop being so annoying, to stop with the riddles, to not be overly excited about certain things. No one ever said nice things to him, ever accepted him for who he was. They would usually talk about him behind his back, make jokes about him, or straight up tell him rude things to his face. The question caught him off guard and he had to think twice before he could answer.

“Whatever do you mean?” Edward asked, his voice soft.

“Most people would use me for information or to hurt me. You’re different,” Oswald explained. “You just want to help me.”

“Mr. Penguin-”

“Oswald.”

“ _Oswald_ , you must learn that not everyone will treat you horribly. There are people who will love and understand you. People who will care for you. There will be people who may hurt you, make you feel as if you have hit rock bottom. But, there are also people who will make you happy, show you just how important you are,” Edward told him. Tears fell down Oswald’s cheeks. “Why are you crying?”

“The only person who ever made me feel important and loved me is dead,” Oswald said. His head was arched as he silently cried, thinking back to the memory.

“Is it alright if I ask who?” Edward asked.

Oswald looked at him, his eyes showing pain, anger, and comfort. Edward could tell the pain came from the person dying, the comfort of Oswald knowing there was someone he could trust, but he did not know where the anger came from.

“My mother. She was murdered. Even as the knife pierced her back, she tried to comfort me, when I was the one that wanted to comfort her. She asked me why I was crying. She acted as if she didn't feel anything. The worst part was knowing that she knew she was dying but she wanted me to stay happy, so she didn't show the pain in her face. I felt as if the roles needed to be changed for once.

“All my life she comforted me, made me feel happy. As a kid, she made sure I didn't feel sad when I went back home. She made sure I didn't think about how badly I was treated at school that day. She made sure ever bruise, scraped knee, cut, burn, and anything else was better by the morning. Every night she used to read me a book and sing me a song. She even kept singing me the song up until the day she was captured.

“She always wanted the best for me, but in that moment that she lay there in my arms, tears running down her cheeks, a smile on her face, I wanted the best for her. I wanted to tell her everything will be alright, to not worry because tomorrow we would go get breakfast, like we do every Saturday morning. I couldn’t. I couldn't lie to her. Not while she was like that. I had to play along like nothing happened, just to make her happy. All I have is memories, now and they’re more like daggers in my heart,” Oswald finished.

Oswald’s face was full of tears. He sobbed as if the tears would wash away the pain. Edward knew it wouldn't, so he pulled Oswald toward him. They wrapped their arms around each other as Oswald cried into Edward’s shirt. They stayed like that in silence with the occasional sniffle for an hour. Ever time Oswald’s shoulders shook harder, Edward pulled him closer.

“What was the song she sang to you?” Edward asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

“The fire has gone out, wet from snow above, but nothing will warm me more than my, my mother’s love,” Oswald sang softly, his voice a bit muffled.

“I light another candle, dry the tears from my face. Nothing can protect me more than my mother’s warm embrace,” Edward sang to Oswald.

They joined in together after that.

“The path ahead is dark, so dark I cannot see, but I will not fear, cause my mother looks over me…” they finished. Oswald laughed a little and sniffled.

“How is it you know that song?” Oswald asked him quietly.

“I have the record,” Edward answered.

“Oh,” Oswald said.

Nothing more was said until morning the next day. They were both curled up, Oswald’s head was still resting against Edward. Their arms still draped around each other protectively. The sun flitted through the cracks in the window blinds, making the room not seem entirely dark. The birds sang their happy tunes while Oswald began to awake from his slumber.

The first thing he noticed was that he was still in Edward’s arms. He didn't know why, but it felt… right. It felt as if he belonged there. The second thing he noticed was the writing on Edward’s arm. His eyes widened slightly.

“Umbrellas,” Oswald whispered.

“Yes, it’s interesting, don't you think? There aren't many people in the world who enjoy umbrellas enough for it to be written on someone’s arm,” Edward said, startling Oswald.

“Well, they do come in handy when shoving them down someone’s throat,” Oswald said before chuckling, looking up at Edward.

“You like umbrellas?” Edward asked, his eyebrow raising.

“Yes. They are very useful. Keeps you from getting wet from the rain, Mary Poppins uses them to fly, perfect to use in place of a cane. The list could go on,” Oswald smiled. “Do you like riddles?”

“No. I love riddles. I love confusing people and seeing their reactions. It makes me feel like I’m better than them. Too long have I been cast off to the side. I became fascinated in riddles when I was young. My school was hosting a contest to see who could finish a puzzle the fastest. I won, of course. As a prize, they gave a book full of riddles. Riddles have always been a big part of my life since that day,” Edward told him, smiling as well. “Why ever do you ask?” Edward asked, pretending to not know why Oswald asked him if he liked riddles.

“Oh you know why. You’ve seen it written on arm arm, haven't you? Riddles. I thought, ’Riddles? Why?’ I guess I know my answer,” Oswald said, his voice growing quiet by the end.  
In unison, their arms began tingle. They pulled their arms away from each other to watch in fascination as the thing the other Liked turned into the other’s name.

“Oswald,” Edward read when the change stopped.

“Edward,” Oswald whispered.

They stared at each other before Oswald randomly hugged Edward. Edward laughed before pulling away.

“I get that we are soulmates, but we only just met for the second time. I know nothing about you. How about I take you out on a date first? Deal?” Edward asked him.

“Deal.”


End file.
